


Paint Me a Sky in Technicolor

by Crymore



Series: Rainado [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baby angst, Double Life, Fluff, Getting Together, Hero AU, Long ass fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 23:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crymore/pseuds/Crymore
Summary: After the Star Labs explosion, villains and heroes alike start popping up everywhere in Central City. Mark struggles to balance his life as a super hero after encountering a local artist, Roy Bivolo. That line between hero and civilian gets wrecked after the city's head villain decides to expose all the heroes secret identities to each other.





	Paint Me a Sky in Technicolor

**Author's Note:**

> So y'all don' get confused because some names aren't revealed and they're only mentioned once:
> 
> Vidar- Malcolm Merlyn  
> Apollo- Oliver Queen  
> Artemis- Thea Queen  
> Orion- Roy Harper  
> Blade- Slade Wilson  
> Dagger- Rose Wilson  
> The Marksman- Floyd Lawton

Mark huffed as leaned further back into the shoddy office chair he had claimed when he waltzed into the room. He was tired as shit, bruised to hell and back, and in no mood to listen to some pompous ass from Starling. 

To be honest the only reason he agrees to come to the decrepit site that Vidar told him to come to was because he was promised Prizm would be there.

So would he rest of the Hero Circuit, but still.

Clyde stood not too far off from him, shuffling between leaning away and closer to his brother and partner; constantly fiddling with his mask. 

Mark subconsciously touched his own with his gloved fingers before scowling. He wished his and his baby brother’s identities weren’t so important. He wondered what it would be like to be a full time hero like Blade and Dagger all the way in Starling. What it would be like to throw away your past life and take up a new one.

Mark thought about his landing strip and small but prosperous air field that was his main and only source of income and his old old house that his family owned for generations. Mark Mardon has a nice life. He didn’t want Lightning messing it up.

There was the sound of an approaching vehicle. The brothers tensed considerably at the noise. 

“Get in the rafters.” Mark ordered cooly to his brother. 

Clyde only hesitated a millisecond before creating a small and controlled tornado to lift him high to the ceiling.

The vehicle stopped right outside the hollow building, and Mark heard at least two people shuffle their way to the door. 

It couldn’t be Streak, he hates cars, and ran everywhere. Couldn’t be Snow Drift, she rode her motorcycle (which was as loud as all get out) around the city like it was a trophy, and Mark (and every other citizen of Central City) new the sound well. Could be Syke-O and the Eye, but they rarely, if ever, leave the Streak’s place of operation. 

Then again there were several crime families in Central too. Mark can handle guns and bullets, just not super-speed and cryokinesis. 

The door finally opened and Mark released the breath he was holding when he saw the dim light reflect off the familiar white parka.

“Jesus, Cold! You scared the shit outta me!”

Citizen Cold, decked in his tactical snow gear (not very tactical in Central but hey, to each his own), was followed in by Golden Guardian with her shiny metallic helmet still on, and Firestorm, gas mask completely obscuring his face. 

And Clyde made fun of Mark for using a domino mask. 

“Lightning? Vidar called you here too?” Cold asked, moving his way further into the room.

Guardian looked upwards, and Mark could see her red painted lips pull into a smile.

“Hi Thunder.” She chimed lightly.

Clyde made his descent to the ground quietly, and perfectly reigning back in miniature tornado. 

The blond smiled back to the female hero. “Hi Golden Guardian.” As an after though, he added “Hi ‘Storm.”

The fire based hero just grunted in response. Mark wasn’t all that surprised. He had a theory that Firestorm burnt his vocal cords somehow before he invented the mini tactile flamethrowers in his gloves. Not like Mark would ever find out. 

The shadows in the far corner turned uneasily, like smoke in fan. A young woman stepped out, decked in blue and white, white goggles with dark lenses losing her most prominent features.

“Well, the cavalry's here.” Pop said blandly, walking further into the room. The teleporter nodded in greeting to everyone there before rubbing her arms.

“Dammit Citizen, it’s seventy-five out and your damn gun makes it forty in here!”

Citizen Cold shrugged and gripped the handle of his cold gun. “It ain’t even on Pop, ask the Weather Wizards.”

The black hero threw a glare to Mark, who in turn shrugged. “I don’t like the heat, this is subconscious.”

Pop snarled but didn’t comment further. 

“Looks like three of us are still missing.” Guardian said idly, walking around the room.

“Four.” Clyde corrected. “Don’t forget about Vidar.”

The sound of another car approached the building caused all the heroes in the room turned to the door and either aim their weapons or prepared to fight. 

Instead of an enemy, a young man in a jester’s outfit somersaulted into the room after a tired looking brunet opened the door. 

They all relaxed at the sight of Prank and Sonic Boom. 

The soundbender took a quick look around at his colleagues before speaking. “Prizm’s still not here.”

Prank sat on the floor in front of partner and sighed. “Well, isn’t he always kinda late?”

The hero’s debated amongst themselves about the tardiness of the city’s most colorful hero for only a few seconds before the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted them. The eight heroes looked up to the large bay windows of the abandoned warehouse to see Prizm himself, leaning against the frame, unamused. 

“I was late to one bank robbery and I never hear the end of it.” He snarked before his hand came to the large dial on the side of his glasses/goggles. A solid rainbow arched from the lens to the ground, where Prizm slid down and joined the rest of the Hero Circuit. 

Guardian moved to the center. “Well, we’re all here, where’s Vidar?”

Mark shrugged. All he knew was the archer tripped an alarm in a local jewelry shop and when the Weather Wizards came to answer, Vidar was there looking grave and with a request on his tongue. 

Pop rolled her shoulders and edged closer to group, further into the dim light of the warehouse. Prank cracked his neck and wrapped a long arm around the shoulder of his partner, Sonic Boom. 

“… you think it’s gonna be about the Three Hunters?” The youngest asked, fiddling with the hood’s edge of his partners cape. 

The Three Hunters of Starling were Apollo, who dressed in dark yellow and unabashedly threatens his opponents with a painful death; Artemis, the only girl on the group who dressed in dark blue leather and has long white hair flow around her and silently stalks around the city, sticking to her brothers side and kills whoever he points at; and Orion, the loyal third, the follower of Apollo and the lover of Artemis who is just as violent as the other two, only distinguishable from the shadows because his belt held three reflective stars decals on his belt, rumored to be bombs. They were violent and delusional, believing that they were actually saving the city by killing politicians and CEOs. 

There was a whole Hero Circuit for those three. Vidar, another archer who seemed to have a connection to the Three Hunters, but was just as mysterious as them. Blade and Dagger; a man and a young woman with a penchant for swords and masks. They also seem to know at least Apollo, but it’s not like anyone from the Central Circuit was gonna go and ask. Then there was the Marksman.

He can the closest to handling them. But poisoned laced bullets only seemed to put Apollo out for a few days before he came back and… well, Marksman was handled. Permanently. Orion didn’t appreciate having his mentor nearly killed. 

No one in the Central Circuit wanted to go against them; none of them were stupid enough too. They had their own problems with the Streak and his crew; metas dealt with metas (Prank, Cold, Guardian, and Firestorm were the exception), and normies dealt with normies. Besides, the last thing the Central Circuit wants to do is get tangled with the Hunters. Streak and his crew may be their greatest threat, but they don’t kill. The worst thing they did was cause a snow day in the middle of June that put the whole force on their ass and then robbed the city blind as the cops tried to deal with the power outages. They were super powered assholes that the police force couldn’t keep up with, but the eight of them could. 

Citizen Cold drew Golden Guardian closer to him, Firestorm flocking to her other side. “Hopefully not.”

The Central City Hero Circuit was not familiar with each other. After the particle accelerator explosion, Streak emerged almost immediately, taking the city by storm. One by one, the Circuit emerged to take a stand against him, to protect the citizens and give the force an edge. 

The first was Citizen Cold, dresses in tactical snow gear and goggles and wielding a gun that shot ice fire, one of the only weapons that could slow the Streak down. 

Then Snow Drift started havoc, driving by buildings and freezing store fronts. Firestorm was the rebuttal, with his fire gauntlets and his partnership with Citizen. 

Sometimes Cold and Storm didn’t show up, that’s when Mark and Clyde come out. The explosion happened while they were having a Sunday fly around the city in their biplane. They crashed. When they woke up in the hospital, Clyde had a literal storm cloud over his head and it was snowing around Mark. Out of fear of what the public would think, the brothers isolated themselves to their air field and home, honing their powers. When Streak and Snow Drift started giving metas a bad name, so bad to the point the media was straight bashing meta-humans, Clyde and Mark decided to use their powers for good. 

More showed up. 

Pop came unexpectedly, suddenly there and fighting like she’s been doing it her whole life. Then Golden Guardian in her spartan gear and spear and took up ranks with Citizen and Storm. Prank was unconventional, but effective, and between him and Sonic Boom, the two had taken down Syke-O and a few more bad egg metas. 

They were good heroes. They did a good job where the police were hopeless. They were powerful. That was the issue. 

It was almost an unspoken rule between them, not to get involved with each other or even communicate, to form alliances. 

The public was already iffy with metas, thanks to Streak and the others, and the thought of a group of metas and normies with super weapons, converging into a sort of group to protect the law was… not a good idea. Even Mark could see that. Because what if they decided the law wasn’t enough? What if they took the law into their own hands? What if conflict started in the inner circles and it affected them in the field? The last thing they needed was the public against them; it was just safer to stay separated. Each of them recognized the potential of disaster from the start. 

As long as they didn’t cross paths, they were fine. They were safe. The Circuit, as the media had dubbed them, had a first come first serve operation; whoever came to the fight first had dibs, and if they needed help the others would step in. It was a decent operation, it’s work thus far. If a day were to come where it stopped working, well… they’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

Mark and Clyde already decided not to help Vidar with anything he was gonna ask. The brothers were far too fond of Central and far too wary of Starling. 

The sound of a window sliding open silenced the group and had them all turning to see the hero archer climbing onto a catwalk above them.

“Oh.” Vidar hummed. “I didn’t think all of you would actually come.”

“We’re men of our word, Vidar.” Citizen Cold replied. 

The Circuit wasn’t a group, but Citizen was most definitely their leader. If for no other reason than because his whole demeanor screamed authority and demanded respect. Everyone stands up straighter when he enters a room. Mark would challenge for leader, but he couldn’t even make Clyde move his feet off the coffee table, how could he lead the informal group of heroes. 

Once Vidar dramatically jumped off the cat walked, flipped mid air, and landed gracefully on the ground with them, he finally decided to speak. 

At least he had the courtesy to skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase of this meeting. 

“The Three Hunters are getting out of control.”

Every hero sighed. Of course it was them.

Vidar gave a very nice and long speech about how the Three Hunters were a scourge to the city and they need to be wiped out, for the safety of both Starling City and the world. Clyde inched closer to his brother the longer the masked archer spoke, elbows brushing as Mark’s gaze flickered between Clyde, Vidar, and Prizm.

The goggled meta was facing the Starling archer, but Mark had a suspicion he wasn’t even paying attention. Though the tint of the lens were too dark to see where Prizm was looking, but his stance was too relaxed. He must have already made his decision.

The others seem to have the same resolve.

Vidar smiled, the same smile a cheesy car salesman has when he tries to sell someone a lemon. 

Cold, ever the figure head, spoke first, his trademark snarl on his face.

“No.”

Vidar looks genuinely surprised, and Mark almost feels bad for raining on his parade.

Ha, rain. Weather joke.

“What?”

Guardian’s spear separated the quickly dwindling space between Vidar and Citizen Cold. “He said no, and I’m inclined to agree with him.”

Firestorm made an affirming sound, supposedly agreeing with his compatriots. 

Mark shrugged, buddying up to Clyde, creating a barrier between his little brother and the archer. “Star is way out of our jurisdiction.”

“And our guys don’t, you know, kill us.” Pop tacked on.

Prank, the dramatic fuck, looked to his partner comically. “Can I help, Boom?”

Sonic Boom didn’t even looked at his brightly colored counterpart, instead his bland stare remained on Vidar. “No.”

“Boom said no, sorry.”

Prizm just humbly put his hands up and shook his head, not saying anything.

Vidar, of course, rebuked, tried to argue his point but it seemed the whole Circuit was steadfast in their decision. The archer left in a huff, swearing to never help Central if it ever fell into tragedy. The threat would have been more serious if Vidal didn’t march out of the building so plainly. 

Guardian watched as the vigilante as he left, flinching slightly when the door slammed shut. “… is he really gonna walk the whole way?”

Citizen withdrew his hand from where it was resting on his gun. “Who cares. Let’s blow this popsicle stand before someone gets wind we’re all here.”

Pop didn’t need to be told twice and disappeared into the shadows without a word. Sonic grabbed Prank by the scruff of his brightly colored overcoat and dragged him out without looking at anyone as his partner waved wildly good-bye to the remaining heroes. 

The main trio watched the brothers and Prizm warily. 

“Oh,” Prizm exclaimed, “are we supposed to leave now? Is there some top secret thing the tree of you need to address without us?”

The following silence answered. 

Mark could tell because of the gnarly goggles but he could tell by the body language that Prizm rolled his eyes. 

Citizen Cold shrugged, “It’d be appreciated.”

Damn that white clad bastard, always so gentlemanly. His words didn’t even hold any malice.

Prizm huffed. “Whatever. Come on guys.” He gestured to the Tornado Twins before stalking out with purpose. 

Clyde coolly followed, mock saluting the trio as he exited. 

Mark walk closely behind, but stopped before Firestorm, eyeing the three questioningly. “What if the Archers do come to Central?”

Cold’s demeanor turned solemn, and Mark could tell that benign the darkly tinted goggles, he was string meaningfully at the wizard. “Then we’ll deal with it.”

Mark believes it was understood that the frosty hero didn’t mean just he and his two compadrates. 

Mark nodded curtly and left.

Clyde stood alone outside, looking at the fading rainbow trail that Prizm always left behind. “Just missed him. Fucked off like a pride float.” 

Mark saddled up next to his kin and sighed. “We better amscray. Citizen was right; too many heroes here could end bad.” 

The blond nodded in agreement and the two finally departed the abandoned building. 

— Two weeks later —

“Vidar of legend is known as the ‘god-killer’ in Norse mythology.” 

Mark sighed as he furiously scrubbed the plate in his hand. 

Ever since the strange meeting, Clyde has been on a weird research kick pertaining to the Archers of Starling City. 

“Maybe that’s why he sucks at his job.” Clyde wondered aloud. “Because all the bad guys are Greek and he’s Nordic. Wrong gods.”

If only he research what Mark wanted him to, like criminal records and alibis of suspects. 

“You have a literal cop wrapped around your pinkie and rather than look up what’s helpful to our investigation, you read fairy tales.” Mark admonishes loudly as he rinses the dish. 

Clyde, from the living room, huffed. “I’m not asking Eddie for any favors. That’s gross. That’s, like, taking advantage of our relationship.”

The elder brother smirked as he played the plate on the drying rack. “So you admit you have a ‘relationship’?” He teased. 

Clyde floundered in the neighboring room and Mark is pretty sure his brother threw a book at him from the thump against the wall. 

“NOT the point, Marcus!”

“Not my name.”

“Fuck you!”

“I think Eddie would get jealous.”

Another thump against the wall. It almost drowned about the police scanner crackling to life. 

After getting the necessary information, the brothers left their chores and books in favor of their costumes and headed to the address that was currently being robbed. 

—-  
They stayed silent until they landed in front of the art gallery. Inside they saw a man holding a gun and another figure, darkly dressed crowded in the back. 

“Who would rob a small time bank robbery in the middle of the day?” Clyde groaned. 

Mark huffed. “Some ballsy idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” He hissed, stalking to the side of the building. Clyde did a quick google search of the hit spot on his phone on the way to the place for some basic information. The owner was an artist who displayed his own work, made decent money and little to no complaints. No real reason for someone to rob it.

They brothers proceeded to do their go-to infiltration. Mark from the rear and Clyde creating a distraction. Once Mark heard the near-deafening thunder roll and saw the lightning lit up the near black sky, Mark pushed open the already-broken back door and stalked quietly through the back of the gallery until he was in the main room.

The man holding the gun was decked in black and wearing a ski mask; the other figure turned out to be another man, dressed in business casual clothing that clashed horribly in color and with the amber shades of his aviator glasses. That man was backed in the corner and on the floor, looking afraid.

So, Mark had a pretty clear idea of who the bad guy was in the situation.

Clyde followed their procedure and released another flash of lightning, bright enough to blind anyone who wasn’t wearing protective eyewear and loud enough to cover whatever noise Mark would make. Mark’s movements were quick and practices, a concentrated tornado was sent to the robber’s feet, knocking him off balance. Clyde slipped in through the front of the gallery and flanked the thief's other side as Mark followed up. 

The burglar looked confused and frightened, which was the Tornado Twins sweet spot for their opponents. He made a move to get up, but the hail ball floating in Mark’s hand and the obvious challenge in Clyde’s eye made him second guess himself. 

“Keep him covered.” Mark ordered quietly, turning to face the victim in the corner. Clyde nodded and made his own hail balls, juggling it to be a little shit. Mark doesn't know why Clyde thinks juggling was intimidating, but it was one of his few skills he took pride in so Mark wasn't going to say anything. Especially ever since Eddie said that Clyde’s juggling was cool, Mark was pretty sure God themself could tell him juggling was lame and Clyde would disagree.

The man in the corner was now standing, brushing off the dirt from the floor, eyeing the brothers and the intruder from behind his aviators. He must be the artist who owned the gallery He was dressed in varying shades of brown clothing, from his shirt to his shoes. His hair was brown and his glasses lenses were brown and at first Mark figured that the guy must really hate all colors except for brown if the colorful minargere that littered the walls weren't there to disprove him. 

When the man who was presumably the owner finally faced Mark, he swore his heart stopped. He was pretty. Not like he should be printed on the cover of magazines or anything but a kind of soft pretty, with a gentle jawline and endearingly large ears and a thin mouth that was pulled into a cute frown.

Mark’s brained spazzed for a moment before he could form a sentence. “Are you okay?”

The hero could feel the eye roll from behind the glasses. “Physically fine, thanks.” he said blandly. Mark suddenly felt very stupid and embarassed. “He didn’t get a chance to take anything, but he still cut the power for the building and that triggered the alarm-”

Right. The alarm. The one that alerted the brothers. And cops. Meaning cops would be here soon. Cops who barely tolerated the Hero Circuit.

“But yeah, I’m fine.” the man sighed, leveling Mark with a tired look. Not so much tired of Mark but just with the whole ordeal. “Thanks to you two.” the sentence was said softly and genuinely and Mark swallowed thickly to deal with the sudden flush of affection he felt for the stranger.

The man let the sun glasses slip down his nose enough for Mark to see that his eyes were the softest shade of blue he had ever seen. So light that the little light that remained in the room seem to reflect off of them. The man looked deliberately at the intruder before pushing the glasses back up his nose and back to looking at Mark. (Mark vaguely heard a thump and assumed Clyde knocked the guy out).

The hero nodded stiffly, thankful his hair was long enough to cover the blush on his ear tips and that his mask covered the blush that rose high on his cheeks. 

Sirens neared the building, and the brothers were already preparing to duck out the back and tornado fly away from the authorities (Mark really hoped he wouldn’t need to pull Clyde away from Detective Thawne (again)).

Clyde was corralling the offender towards the front door, probably planning on literally kicking him out the door for the police and to have ample view of Eddie before scramming the scene. Mark was still looking intently at the owner.

He was smiling shyly, looking embarrassed. Maybe he felt ashamed for his annoyed outburst earlier or maybe he was trying to seem grateful for the rescue. 

“You two, uh, better duck out the back. Before the-”

“Cops.”

“Cops, yeah.”

Mark bristled from the awkward tension in the air. The sound of wheels squealing and the slamming of the door alerted Mark that it was time to go, but it still took Clyde hooking his arm around his neck and dragging him out for Mark to break out of his revere. 

It took them duo completely turning the corner to the back door for Mark to stop staring at the man.

\---  
Clyde, for whatever reason, didn’t bring up the weird behavior Mark displayed at the gallery. They completed the mission, protected the innocent and apprehend the guilty and turned him to the proper authorities, so maybe Clyde figured it wasn’t worth mentioning Mark’s grade school behavior.

He did though smirk when Mark seized up when Clyde mentioning that one of them should check up on the owner in a few days to make sure he was alright. 

Honestly, fuck Clyde sometime.

\---  
Mark googled the gallery himself. The owner’s name was Roy Gerald Bivolo. No facebook or social media site, but the gallery’s website gave a brief bio of him.

The gallery was called the Rogue Gallery, and it displayed all of Bivolo’s original works. Mostly abstract stuff and a few portraits. Everything was multicolored and a bit eyestraining, but Mark liked it. Bivolo opened his gallery in 2009, after he graduated from some pristine art school and his pieces are often bought and sold among private dealers and a few of the pieces were displayed in modern art museums. All in all a successful artist. And his profile picture was very flattering in black in white. 

He even wore the aviator glasses in the picture. Mark found that unbearably endearing for some reason.

\---  
He did check up on the owner, in the end. 

Mark waited a full week after the story stopped running in the papers before going, ignoring the knowing smile Clyde had plastered on his face as he left the house in the early evening in their shitty pick up truck. Mark only contemplated poking fun about Eddie Thawne again, but this is the first time in a long time Clyde had ammunition against him and Mark wasn’t going to give his baby brother the satisfaction.

Besides, it was just an infatuation. It wasn’t like Mark was hopelessly devoted to Bivolo the way Clyde was to his cop.

\---  
Mark was fucked.

Oh so very fucked.

Because Roy was pretty. Oh so very pretty.

Mark had a whole reason and backstory as to why he, a private pilot, was visiting a private gallery (saw a piece in a museum, heard about the break in, got curious, came to see it for himself as a third party), but everything sorta went down the down the drain when he actually saw Roy Bivolo. 

Now he was dressed in black, grey, and brown. Nothing really coordinated together and the clothes look well worn, but he seemed comfortable and unaware of the clashing outfit. His default expression was, as Clyde calls it, Resting Murder Face. He was still wearing the aviators.

Mark barely glanced at a painting before the artist came over and to strike up a conversation. Mark wasn’t very good at talking to people. He was crass and didn’t know how to lie or cover up how he really felt in his tone or expressions, he spoke without thinking and often offended people on accident (an upside to being as reclusive pilot is that one seldom has to speak to people recreationally, and the upside to being a hero is that he didn’t have to care about what he was saying, since the people he spoke to were villains or cops, and they already had a low opinion of them).

But Bivolo didn’t really seem offended when Mark blurted out whatever came to his mind. If anything he seemed amused by it. Mark thought for sure the owner would do something, cuss him out or ban him from the gallery, when he offhandedly mentioned he didn't care for one painting (Mark had entirely forgotten that the only paintings there were done by the man he was talking to), but all Bivolo did was laugh and say, “Yeah, I don’t get it either.”

Soon talking strayed from art theory (thank fuck because Mark was bullshitting the entire time) to light small talk. Mark mentioned his brother and his air strip and Bivolo spoke fondly of his father and insisted he be called Roy instead of Mr. Bivolo.

They talked about stupid shit for hours and Mark tried so hard to keep Roy smiling and laughing because his smile and laugh were pretty. They talked until Clyde called Mark and asked “where the hell are you it’s eight pm already and it was your turn to make dinner,” and thusly cut their conversation short.

Roy smirked almost lasciviously before handing a business card to Mark, “In case you want to discuss color theory more,” he had said flirtatiously. Mark flushed and nodded eagerly.

Mark thought he caught a glimpse of Roy’s eyes as they were walking out. He thought he saw brown irises, but that couldn't be right. 

Mark remember their technical first meeting, that day during the robbery. 

Roy’s eyes were blue then.

\---  
The ideal date for Roy seemed to be watching a lot of movies at his house and drinking a lot of alcohol, and Mark thought that was a brilliant idea. 

After their initial meeting, and a few awkward phone calls, Roy smoothly asked Mark if he was interested in coming to his house to watch a few movies one evening and Mark surprised himself by answering without a stutter. Roy recited his address and the time Mark should swing by, and Mark himself promised to bring beer to pair with Roy’s promise of wine and he was on his way.

Mark liked Roy’s house. It was small and white, almost picture perfect. Scarce of pictures and personal artifacts (Mark supposed Roy put all his affection and superficiality into his paintings), the walls weren’t decorated but the furniture and rugs were decorative and that made up for it.

It was cozy and clean, but Mark had a strange longing to take a paintbrush to everything. Roy’s house was the exact opposite of the Mardons. Every wall in Mark’s home was wallpapered with some multicolored floral pattern, and every shelf and ledge was covered in baubles and framed pictures and books (Clyde loved reading and had a bad habit of hoarding literature). Every inch of Mark’s spacious home looked worn and lived in and loved. He couldn’t tell if Roy just had that certain style or if he didn’t feel comfortable in his house enough to be himself.

Roy’s idea of good movies seem to be every movie from the 80’s ever. Mark couldn’t complain; it was nostalgic and comforting, and after two glasses of Merlot and a Miller Lite, Mark was having the time of his life, retelling stories from his youth and Roy doing the same. 

But buzzed Mark was dumb and got sober Mark in trouble sometimes.

“Hey, I gotta question.” the pilot stumbled over his words slowly, temporarily ignoring the scene of Ladyhawke being played on the television.

Roy looked thoroughly amused (as much as he could with his sunglasses on (he really never takes them off does he?)) from his seat flush next to Mark and smiled confusedly over his glass of wine. “Alright, shoot.” he ordered, laughter distorting his words slightly.

Mark gestured to the shades sloppily, beer still in hand. “I have like, zero idea what your eyes are.”

The artist laughed openly at that. “What?”

Roy’s laugh was infectious, soon Mark joined in. 

“Your eyes! Like, I never see them,” Mark tried to explain as well as he could in his state. “Because of like, you glasses and shit and I don’t even know what they look like.” Mark finally had the good sense to place his bottler on the coffee table in front of him before continuing. “I mean, are they blue or grey or-or orange?”

“I don’t think eyes can be orange.”Roy disputed, still smiling and watching Mark like he was the most interesting thing in the room (he kind of was considering how sparsely decorated the house was).

Mark shook his head in disagreement. “Yours could be.” he argued. “You’re cool enough to have, like, kaleidoscope eyes, rainbow eyes.” he closed his own brown 

Roy seemed to still at that, and his smile faltered from amused to fake and Mark’s stomach swooped unpleasantly from making Roy uncomfortable.

The aviators slipped down Roy’s nose when he tilted his head downward, and the artist looked to Mark with hooded periwinkle eyes. “I like your eyes better.”

Mark thought suddenly that liking grey eyes was the funniest thing ever, and began to laugh like it was. He tried to explain that they really weren’t, but it seems the alcohol he consumed was finally beginning to take it’s full affect on him and all Mark could do was laugh and try and dispute Roy’s statement. 

When Mark finally left the mostly empty house, mostly sober and hours later, he realized his question still went unanswered.

\---  
Mark visited Roy more, at the gallery and his house. Roy never seemed to mind. 

Mark really did enjoy their conversations. Only speaking to your brother or people you plan on beating up really makes you appreciate having conversations outside the subjects of vigilantism, weather, plane mechanics, and violence. 

He and Roy talked about a variety of subjects. Everything from art to alcohol to aviation. Roy also had a funny habit of dropping some bombs in a casula matter.

“I really like this one.” Mark had mentioned during one of his many excursions to gallery. The “one” in questioned was one of Roy’s smaller paintings, about 10x13, and it displayed the image of a technicolor sky with a plane as its center focus. “Did you pick purple because it's supposed to be sunset?”

Roy had shrugged, today sporting a black turtleneck and forest green slacks with a tan overcoat. “I was going for more of a at night approach but I guess I wouldn't know better,” he appraised his piece before adding, “I mean, I am colorblind.” 

Roy had walked away to the other side of the gallery and never broached the subject again, Mark was forced to accept the information in stride because Roy didn’t give him time to question it.

The artist’s glasses slide down his nose and bright hazel, almost yellow, eyes peered into Mark’s own brown. “Tell me more about your planes.”

The pilot was suddenly very happy to talk about plane models and completely didn't register that Roy’s eyes were, once again, a different color.

Roy made Mark think in new ways. His artistic and out-of-the-box thinking was a good compliment to Mark’s down-to-earth style, and Mark complimented Roy. They were good for each other.

Which is why Mark could never ever tell Roy he was Lightning to the Tornado Twins.

Roy was very non confrontational and visibly shied away from violence, there’s no way he would approve of Mark’s nightly activities. No way he’d accept it. Mark didn’t even want to think about if Roy ever found out. He figured Roy wouldn’t tell the police, but he certainly wouldn’t speak to Mark ever again and Mark wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

Mark has been doing much better ever since meeting Roy. Hell, he hasn’t even thought about Prizm in ages. Not to say that he didn’t get fledgling butterflies in his stomach when he thought about the other hero, but Roy was more tangible, more real than the mood alternator. Roy seemed much more real than Prizm ever did. 

Even Eddie, who seldom visits the house or encounters Mark, noticed the difference in his mood. 

Of course he can barely get three words to Mark before Clyde comes over and drags the cop back to his room (Clyde was perpetually jealous of anyone who held Thawne’s attention for longer than five seconds. Mark has often joked that the only reason that Eddie has kept the “Twins’” identity secret for so long is because he was being bought out with sex; Clyde never disagrees and Eddie becomes too flustered to dispute).

So Mark had a separated life. One with Roy in the sun talking about whatever made them happy and another life at night with his brother where all he talked about was dangerous situations and how to safely disperse justice. 

He never thought those two worlds would collide.

\---  
Streak and his gang was causing a whole ass ruckus in the heart of Central. Snow Drift had frozen the area around the police station, Syke-O had completely shut down the electrical grid surrounding and inside the building, Streak has taken almost everyone in the building and deposited them outside of the “danger zone”. Apparently, even the Eye was apparently making an appearance. 

Something of this caliber was usually left to Citizen Cold, Firestorm, and Golden Guardian, but for whatever reason, none of them have shown up yet. 

Half an hour into the fiasco, Mark and Clyde decided to try and handle the situation. As they approached the ice wall that surrounded the CCPD, Eddie Thawne rushed towards them.

“He’s in there, West. And detective Snart too.” the cop rushed out. “His sister and friend from the fire department were visiting. This is a top priority now, seeing as civilians are involved.”

Marked noticed how Clyde’s eyes raked up and down Eddie’s body, looking for injuries, a saw the small fire ignited at the thought of Streak, even for a millisecond, having his hands on Eddie. With having so many people, cops, newscaster, and civilians alike, Eddie couldn’t outright comfort Clyde, but the detective managed a small smile and gently brushed his fingers over the gloved ones of Clyde as a sort of peace offering. People bustled around them but paid no mind to the heroes or the detective.

Mark thought briefly of Roy, and hoped he was somewhere safe and far far away from where Mark was standing.

There was a collective gasp from the surrounding people, and the brothers turned around in time to see Prizm land heavily on the ground. The bespeckled hero quickly marched to the other two. 

“Pop is already in.” he said in lieu of greeting. “And Prank and Sonic are entering through the underground.”

“Seems like everyone’s here for a party.” Mark said grimly.

Prizm and Clyde nodded together, and looked at Mark expectantly. The masked hero sighed heavily. It looks like he was playing leader until Citizen got in.

The inside of the police building seemed to be marred dramatically. All the lights were off, and the screens of the computers were emitting purple light, the black outlines of an eye and black O’s , the signatures of Central lesser seem villains.

The Weather Wizards and Prizm entered through the top of the building, almost too easily, and quickly made their descent into the belly of the building where the others planned to meet up. The bullpen look like it came straight from some way out horror film and Mark couldn’t help but think that the dark colors and the harsh lines looked like one of Roy’s paintings.

Best to put Roy in the back of his mind for now. Thinking about him would surely mess him up. 

From the shadow’s emerge Pop, looking equal parts annoyed and worried.

“Where are the honeymooners? And where the hell is Cold?” she hissed viciously, stalking lowly to the trio. The dim purple hue of the screens made seem more shadow than person, like she was slipping in between the realms of reality and darkness. 

There was a sudden loud sound of wood cracking. The four heroes all startled and look to the source of the noise. The door that lead to the downstairs evidence was broken open, and in the dark doorway was Sonic Boom, hands raised and poised, having shot the door down with a sound wave, probably, with Prank standing dutifully behind him. The taller of the two hunched over his partner, looking among the other four with curiosity. 

“Where’s Citizen and his troupe?” Sonic asked, ignoring the way Prank curled around him from behind.

Prizm huffed. “That’s the million dollar question.”

“It really is.” a bizarrely cheerful voice chirped from the front of the bullpen.

The heroes turned to face the voice, and lo and behold in front of the mural of the “Gods of Justice,” stood the Streak.

By him on his left was Snow Drift, motorcycle helmet still in place and her dark blue riding outfit so contradictory to Streak’s white and red full bodysuit. On his right was a man with longer hair and reflective glasses, a dark leather jacket unzipped to show a black tee-shirt. Mark recognized him as Syke-O, only from the only time he’s been arrested, apprehended by Prank and Boom. on the other side of Syke-O was a woman Mark had never seen before. She was decked head to toe in purple long dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves and a frown firmly set on her face.

That must be the Eye, the reclusive and elusive computer based villain that hasn’t been seen by the public eye yet.

And each of the notorious villains that have been terrorizing Central City for years was holding a hostage.

Drift had a gruff looking bald man on his knees, her hand armored in an icicle ending in a lethal point, angled right at the man’s jugular.

The Eye held down another man, older. Mark knew him as Joe West, Eddie’s senior partner. Eye held no weapons, but considering that they were in the presence of two lethal villains, she didn’t need one.

Syke-O had an attractive young woman by the throat. She had her teeth bared and struggled against him but was ultimately no match for the man.

And Streak had Detective Snart. Mark only knew snart through reputation. A through detective that has had a hand in apprehending many metahuman outlaws and solving several crimes. The detective looked grim compared to the villain holding him; Streak look positively cheerful.

Mark ran the information Eddie had given earlier. If that was West and Snart, that meant the young woman was Snart’s sister, and the other man was the friend from the fire department. One civilian, three civil servant. Four bad guys, six good guys. Great odds all things considering. 

Streak was still smiling. “A million dollar question that I have the answer too.” he flaunted.

Mark stood forward, the other quickly falling in line behind them. For a group of people that never work together, they’re sure are acting like this is a normal thing. 

“Why take everyone out but them.” Mark questioned, willing fog to roll around the floor, any advantage he could get over Streak. “You took everyone out but them. Why.”

Streak shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “Well, West is here my request of Eye.” the woman mentioned smiled widely, terrifyingly. “She’s a sucker for family reunions after all, and she wanted to let her old man know she was doing alright.”

Mark recalled the disappearance of Detective West’s daughter, Iris, right after the Particle Accelerator explosion. She was one of the many who died/disappeared/injured, and the only reason she was made such a big deal about it was because she was the detectives kid. He knew that a lot of victims of the explosion became criminals, Mark just didn’t think that a cop’s kid would go dark side. 

“But,” Streak continued, “the others are because of you.”

Mark felt his stomach drop. The air about them turned even more tense. Clyde shuffled closer to his brother; Pranks and Boom were pressed tight next to each other; even Pop and Prizm had their arms out, reaching to the others, as if physical contact could protect them. They knew danger was approaching.   
The grip around Snart’s neck seemed to loosen, only for Streak to lean over and curl his arm around his captive’s throat. “You see, you and the other heroes in you circut don’t even really know each other.” Streak pouted dramatically, making puppy-eyes at the group in front of him. “Which is no good way to have a decent relationship with each other.”

Eddie and Clyde, lying on the ratty couch in their home, crossed Mark’s mind, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what was about to transpire. 

“Take a nice long look at these people, you guys.” Streak taunted. “Don’t they seeeeem familiaaaar?” he dragged on, fingers trailing down the face of the detective. 

Snart threw his shoulder into his captor, a snarl marring his face. A familiar snarl. One Mark had seen earlier that month, in a warehouse when he was declining to help Vidar.

Pop gasped. The shoe dropped. 

The man Streak was holding was Citizen Cold, one of Central’s heroes, unmasked and unhidden.

Syke-O smiled viciously, ignoring the Snart girl’s thrashing. “Looks like they’re finally catching up to us.” 

Eye, Iris, hummed in amusement. “Do you think they can figure the rest out?” Her fingers drummed along rhythmically against the shoulder of her father, who was looking at Detective Snart in shock.

Snow Drift finally spoke. “Let’s give them a hand.” her voice seemed to echo from her helmet in a haunting fashion, head tilted in a way that seemed scary, like a hawk watching its prey. “They are pretty stupid, for not having figured it out yet.”

Mark swallowed thickly. 

Streak smirked fiercely, and Syke-O’s hand rose to his glasses. 

The screens turned from purple to blinding white, and it seemed like a collage of pictures ran across the screens.

The heroes’ attention was diverted from the villains to the computers. All but Snart looked to the screens, he remained glaring at Streak. Mark saw newspaper clippings of the Star Labs explosions, saw the names of the people who were injured. Saw his and Clyde’s name. Saw pictures of their crashed plane from that fateful night and their driver’s license photos. Then strips of the acts of the Weather Wizards were shown; reports of freak weather accidents from when he and Clyde were still trying to control their powers. Finally, a side by side picture of the brothers and a very clear photo of the Tornado Twins was shown. 

Now they were exposed. Clyde fearfully clutched the sleeve of his brother’s coat. Mark feels like a teenager again, helpless and powerless, watching a disaster unfolding with no way to stop it from happening. 

More photos cycled through. Pictures of employee records, news clips, school photos, and names. All their names.

Leonard Snart, the detective, Citizen Cold. 

Lisa Snart, a jeweler, the Golden Guardian.

Mick Rory, a fireman, Firestorm. (not actually scarred or burned in any way, just man who hates talking apparently, Mark’s theory went down the shitter).

Lashawn Baez, Pop.

Axel Walker, Prank.

Hartley Rathaway, Sonic Boom.

Clyde and Mark Mardon, Thunder and Lightning, the Tornado Twins, the Weather Wizards.

Roy Bivolo, the artist. Prizm.

Streak and his gang seemed to revel in the growing tension. “So thrilling to see you all as you are.” he chuckled.

Snart growled and thrashed violently. “Why bother? You gonna tell everyone?!”

Drift actually laughed, and the others joined her slowly. 

“That would be boring.” Streak said blandly, all the previous mirth suddenly gone. “If any of you get caught or discovered, who’s gonna stop me? Or any other psychopath that decides to my city for a spin?” Streak scoffed and finally released Snart, who fell to the floor. “No, you all are far more valuable free to roam. But hiding from each other? Separating yourself?” the others released their captives. Lisa practically threw herself to her brother and Rory grabbed them both and half lead half dragged them towards the heroes, away from villains. “Come on guys, there’s strength in numbers, I mean,” the speedster gestured to his compatriots with open arms, “I wouldn’t be able to do what I’ve done without my team.” he said slowly, as if they were all stupid.

Mark felt too hot, like his skin was too small for his body. His eyes itched to look to Prizm, Roy, his boyfriend, but at the same time he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the city’s villains. It felt like everyone was stuck in the never-mentioned third flight-or-flight option; freeze. The time was frozen in this snow globe Drift had created and that Eye and Syke-O decorated, and all Mark could do was try to comprehend the whole ordeal. That Streak and his freaks knew about Mark and his brother and every other hero in Central; that Prizm, the meta he had a crush on, was actually Roy Bivolo, the artist he’s come to know in these weeks.

He felt confused, betrayed, scared, worried, terrified because the careful double life he’s tried to live is coming down around him by the hands of the speedster, because this was his twisted way of teaching them a lesson. (Whether Streak genuinely thought they should band together or this was just his way of showing them he knew all about their private lives was left to be determined).

Detective West seemed to separate himself from the group, eyes flickering between the screen of the computers, still going on a reel about the Hero Circuit, and the two groups in front of him; one villains, the other heroes, both of whom he swore to bring in. He looked to his daughter the most, in a heartbreaking way that evoked a sense of sympathy in Mark’s clusterfuck of a conscious. 

Snart glared at all the villains with a cold fire in his eye. “So what do we do now? Make a deal or-”

“Ha! Please.” Streak wheezed, a crazed smile stretching across his face. “There isn’t anything you can do or have that I want. Tonight was just to kick start a bigger scheme; all you have to do is let us leave.”

Sonic, Hartley, seized up. “But the computers-”

“Will be completely wiped.” Syke-O quipped cheerfully. “A little added bonus for us. The CCPD won’t know who you are, and we’ll all go on our happy way, so long as you don’t follow.”

Prank, Axel, gestured with his chin to West, who was still looking mournfully at Eye.

Syke-O shrugged and scoffed. “Like he’ll convict his daughter. And to out not only the several time savior of Central, but a fellow cop? Unlikely.” the tech-based criminal almost appeared to enjoy the leg up he had specifically on West, but Mark didn’t give a damn given the current circumstances.

The Hero Circuit could do nothing but stare as their opponents departed. Three of them were weaponless, and engaging in fighting would incite the crowd outside, giving them unwanted attention. Streak looked pointedly at Snart the elder, like he was trying to get a rise out of him as he exited through the stairwell Sonic Boom and Pranked entered through earlier. Snow Drift did a mock kiss goodbye to them all with her helmet still completely obscuring her face. Eye looked bored, expressionless and she followed her friends down into the dark. Syke-O tapped the arms of his tricked out glasses a few times as he easily breezed past the group, his stride never breaking even smiled faux-saccharine art Lisa.

The second the broken door closed, everyone took a deep breath of relief. Mark immediately held the hand Clyde was still using to grip hsi jacket sleeve.

“Should we follow?” Lisa asked in a hiss, pulling her brother to a stand with her.

The Circuit, almost naturally, lean in to listen. Cold was still their not-leader.

Snart shook his head firmly. “They prepared for us, they were ready. We don’t have our gear and I do believe they’ll expose us if we follow them down, shit- how did they know?” in frustration he kicked the edge of the desk. 

The instant his foot made impact, everything went dark the little light that came through the windows barely outlines the individuals inside. The screens of the computers went black, surrounding them all in darkness and mild fear.

“The computers are being erased.” Hartley whispered, afraid to break the atmosphere. “They’re being reseted right now.”

Mark swallowed thickly. “We should leave.” he suggested, clutching his baby brother’s hand. “The further Drift is, the faster the ice melts.”

Snart sighed. “And the rest of the force will want to know why we didn’t catch them, even if they were outnumbered.” he rubbed his jaw harshly in thought. “The three of us should stay. The rest of you should leave.”

Clyde shook his head. “They’ll think we let them walk away. We can’t let the public think that.”

How quickly fear could change the people’s opinion of their heroes.

“We’ll take you out.” Axel offered. “Make it seem like they am-scrayed when we were saving you.”

Roy shook his head, light refracting off his goggles. “Not you guys. The press saw the wizards and I enter.” he explained. “We should be the ones to take them outside while you three get away.”

“They’ll never know we were here.” Lashawn summed up.

This felt wrong. This felt conniving. It felt like a cover for a murder and it made Mark’s stomach swirl unpleasantly, but it really was to the only way to make a clean get away without the press asking too much or the police asking the right questions. Make it look like three heroes went in for four hostages, being held by four villains, and them escaping once they were unattended after being overpowered. Simple and easily explainable. But it still felt dirty.

West seemed numb as Roy lead him to the roof. Poor West just got the shock of his life and them some. Then again so did Mark. 

On the Snarts, Rory, and West were on the ground, outside the icy ring that surrounded the building, the siblings fell into a very believable act of being worried and hysterical. Rory only grunted in response to questions. West completely blew off his partner and the other officers and walked into the crowd, getting lost from sight. 

Roy left on a rainbow bridge before he could even be spoken too. Mark was hurt, and too confused to even follow him. There was too much to wrap his head around, so he focused on getting Clyde and himself out of public.

Baby steps. Leave, search his house and work space for bugs Streak and his crew might have planted, fully comprehend where all this new information left him, and then talk to Roy. Yeah, good plan. 

Before Mark and Clyde could lift off into the night sky, away from all the hullabaloo, Snart caught his eye. The detective was holding his sister closely to his chest, looking distressed and anxious, and Mark intrinsically knew that Snart wasn’t faking it for the press. Mark would recognize that look anywhere; the look of a worried big brother. Harsh grey eyes met brown, and Mark nodded at his not-leader. A silent understanding that now was the time for Mark to take his family and hide, that it was okay too. 

The wizard looked almost longingly at the dissolving remains of the rainbow bridge that was slowly but surely disappearing, and he tried not to think about changing eyes and clashing colors and mismatched outfits.

\---  
After sweeping the house for bugs (and finding none, which was somehow more concerning), it took a full week after the accident before anyone on the Circuit contacted him. Mark has been waiting by his cell phone and landline, like some heartbroken teenager waiting after the first big fight in a new relationship. 

Not Roy (which Mark couldn’t decide was good or bad), but Snart. 

Mark opened the door to Eddie, which was normal, but Detective Snart loomed behind him, looking like a disapproving father who came to scold his son’s rambunctious friends; which was… well, not entirely far off. But still, Snart’s face put the fear of God in Mark, and Eddie’s apologetic expression did not make up for it.

“He uh, just followed me.” the blonde explained lamely. Mark and Snart haven’t broken eye contact since he opened the door. “Clyde here?” he asked awkwardly, one shoulder rising to seem nonchalant.

Mark just stepped aside and allowed the detectives into his house, smiling tersely at his guests.

Eddie made a bee-line to the stairwell, going up to Clyde’s room with a sympathetic shoulder pat to Mark as he passed him. Mark was at least glad that Clyde would be avoiding whatever awkward as hell talk Snart was gonna give him in favor of spending time with his boyfriend (he felt a pang and deep longing for Roy).

Snart meandered into the living room, his presence commanding attention. Mark rolled his eyes.

“Okay, what?” he snapped. 

“What about what.” Snart said listlessly, eyeing the photos on the walls and disinterestedly taking in his surroundings.

Mark huffed and slammed the door, moving into his home. “What about last week? What about what we do now?”

The detective shrugged. “I actually came to ask you if you knew Prizm’s- sorry, Bivolo’s address.”

The wizard scoffed. Snart saw the address on the screen just like Mark did, and he wasn’t stupid enough to forget it. He was just being an ass. 

“Okay, I came to see if you’re alright.” Snart admitted, putting his hands up in surrender. “I figured you and Bivolo were close-”

“His name is Roy.” Mark corrected demurely. Mark never calls Roy by his last name, it seemed too impersonal for him to be referred to by anything else in his home. 

Snart looked at him oddly, unblinkingly. “Okay. I knew you and Roy were close. Stuff like this could, how shall we say, complicate things.”

“You knew.” Mark seethed, finally comprehending everything. “You knew about all of us already. You didn't even look at the computer screens, because you knew!” he accused. 

Snart didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “I am a detective, Mr. Mardon. Please refrain from insulting my intelligence. But yes, I did know.” the word hung in the air, weighing down on the two men before the detective spoke again. “I never told anyone when I found out. Not even my sister.” he admitted humbly. “The Circuit was safe if we didn’t know each other, I wanted to keep it that way.”

“Why did Streak-”

“I don’t know. Streak is a wild card that I can’t predict, and with his network I’m surprised he didn’t parade his knowledge earlier.” he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Streak’s not exactly patient with information. He likes having everyone know he knows something.”

That was the way Clyde was. Mark tried not to let the similarities worry him. 

Snart sighed again and landed a heavy hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark, we’re all a scrambled right now. I can’t find Leshawn for the life of me, Hartley took Walker and are hidden away somewhere that’s locked up like Fort Knox, and Roy hasn’t made any appearance for the last few days. I know you and Roy already know each other, and I’d appreciate it if you find him and make sure he’s alright.” His hand squeezed Mark’s shoulder meaningfully. “I need to know we’re all alright.”

Mark smiled smally at the concern. Citizen Cold’s impervious facade was finally broken by his fear for the Hero Circuit. “Since when did you start treating us like team?”

A genuine smile wormed his way onto Snart’s face. “Since we are one, I figured we might as well start acting like it.” he sighed, making his way to the door, signalling his departure. “And i also wanted to scare Thawne a little bit. Let him know who I am and that I know that the Thunder of the Tornado Twins is his little boyfriend. I need the edge on him.” he explained, looking back as he opened the door. “I am his new partner after all.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Just don’t mess with my brother, because I will get you if you do.”

“I get it. From one brother to another.”

Snart left, Eddie and Clyde didn’t come down until dinner, and Roy still hasn’t called. 

\---  
When waiting became too much, Mark sucked up his pride and fear and made the drive to Roy’s house. It was still white, still lonely looking, and Mark still wanted to paint it all over to make look like something other than a mausoleum. His heart ached looking at the building, all the good memories attached to it. 

Mark half considered just bargaining and demanding answers, but Roy never responded well to aggression and Mark never like being an aggressor. So he knocked on the plain white door and waited for a few tense, heart pounding seconds before the door flew open and a fist was suddenly curled in Mark’s shirt, yanking him into the house. 

He half stumbled into the house, half fell. Luckily someone caught him. 

Unluckily, that someone was a peeved Roy. 

“What are you doing here.” He demanded, leaving Mark’s side as soon as the other man was inside the house.

Mark sighed and straightened up. “I’m worried about you.” He answered honestly. “A whole week went by and you haven’t called.” 

Roy turned to him with a fire in his eyes. Only then did Mark notice the aviators, usually omnipresent, were absent on Roy’s face. Mark had an idea of how Roy would look sans aviators, but compared to the real thing Mark’s imaginations was severely lacking. Without the tinted lenses and the harsh lines of the frames, Roy looked so much softer, much more vulnerable. 

There were bags under his eyes, and the eyes themselves were tired and sullen. Without the glasses, Mark could see the thin, dark eyebrows, furrowed; rectangular eyes that Mark has seldom seen. Now brown. 

After a beat of silence Roy huffed and crossed his arms. “Are we going to pretend that it never happened?” he asked angrily.

Mark’s breath caught. Roy could mean many things by that, but the two that came to mind were 1. Their relationship, the past few weeks of joy and guiltless happiness that Mark will surely cling to until he’s old and grey, or 2. The incident at the precinct that Mark really wants to forget. 

Mark was begging for it to be option two.

“Elaborate.” 

A sigh from Roy seemed to deflate him taking with it his anger. “Everything.” a rough hand obscured his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought and sighed again. “I mean, I never would’ve thought you were, well-”

“A Weather Wizard?”

“It's just,” Roy heaved, scowling and looking anywhere but Mark in the empty foyer. “I had something normal.” the way he said ‘normal’ made Mark’s chest ache in a way that it hasn’t since he and Clyde were children. Roy paused to breath before he began rambling. “After everything with the Star Labs explosion and the Circuit, I had you and I thought it you would never have to know about what I did or what I was-”

“You say it like what we do is bad.” 

“I’d normally agree with you, but we were just exposed by the most dangerous guy in the city,” he stressed. “And he and all his cronies know who we are and we all know each other now and we weren’t supposed to in the first place, and- and I’m just confused!” hand came and tangled themselves into short, soft, brown hair and Roy continued to have a mini-meltdown. “I'm confused because I thought I had you figured out and I wanted to tell you but I thought you wouldn't be able to handle me being Prizm and I thought you would leave me-”

And Mark couldn’t help it. He laughed. The whole situation was hilarious in a cosmic sense. Mark finally meets someone he really likes and is terrified him being a superhero would drive them off, only for that person to also be a superhero, facing the same mental dilemma. 

Roy looks at him like he’s gone insane. Which is fair because Mark just showed up out of the blue after their darkest secret had been nonconsensually exposed and now he’s laughing like a maniac in the middle of Roy bearing his heart to him.

“I’m- I’m sorry-” Mark hiccuped around his laughter. “It’s just, just that you’re the freaking Prizm-” and he doubles over in laughter again because he can’t think of a way to convey to Roy how messed up and humorous the ordeal is and if Mark wasn’t such an asshole he might be able to tell him. 

Roy’s quizzical look of a downturned mouth and furrowed brows lightens as he smiles as well and chuckles lightly. “You’re Lightning.” he pointed out, inching closer. “You control the freakin' weather.”

“You control people’s mood!” The discussion quickly dissolved into a competition for who had the better powers. It seemed the most humane way to familiarize themselves with this new side of them. Roy must have found it hard to feel betrayed when he himself was hiding a damn near identical secret, and found it easier to forgive after all the anger has gone from his body. 

They migrated to the couch, the lights were all off but the room was illuminated from the sunlight from the window. Conversation turned from the topic of heroes to how they possessed their powers (Roy was just minding his business in his studio when the first black matter wave hit and blacked out, very mild compared to Mark and Clyde crashing their plane), to their opinions of the others in the Circuit (Roy finds Prank, Axel, annoying but who doesn’t), to talking about costume designs (Roy is not a fan of Mark’s all black assemble and domino mask and Mark has no rebuttal to Roy’s black unitard and rainbow vest-thingy because Mark does look like a villain and Roy actually looks like a hero from a comic book), to the discussion of Roy’s goggles (Dr. Gerald Bivolo, an optometrist who loved his son more than anything and left him an experimental pair of goggles to help him with Roy’s colorblindness but instead when transfused with the dark matter from the explosion had been warped and tinkered into Roy’s primary tool for crime-fighting). 

In between their words and sentences, they inch closer together, some unseen gravity pulling them closer and closer until Roy’s head was resting comfortably on Mark’s shoulder and both of them staring at the blank screen of the television. 

“We have a weird life.” Mark summarized.

Roy chuckled. “Yeah, no shit.”

But it was theirs, and Mark was okay with that.


End file.
